Nights of Wine and Roses
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Phil Coulson met his soul-mate at the worst possible time: during a SHIELD op. Bruce Banner never forgave his soul-mate for leaving him that night... until, years later, he discovered the truth. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. Rating for later on, just in case. Coulsmash!
1. Meet and Miss

"Meet and Miss"

"Target has entered building," Phil Coulson, twenty-six, murmured into his concealed communicator. He couldn't wait for the day people would be able to walk around, talking to someone with their hands free. It would make him stand out less as a potential crazy-person, seemingly muttering to himself.

"Got a fix on him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The meeting's not for another half hour. Sitwell's at your four o'clock."

Phil rolled his eyes when he noticed his fellow junior handling a tray of drinks like a pro. He'd have to tease the younger man about etiquette lessons after the debrief. Or maybe just before. It would depend upon the length of the mission.

He'd only been working in the field for a couple of years, but his immediate superior, Nick Fury, was expecting great things for both of them. All three of them, if Sitwell could handle this mission as well as a tray of a dozen full glasses of Shiraz.

Phil made his way around the room, helping himself to the occasional hors d'oeuvres, and making brief eye contact with Jasper when he took a glass from the tray.

"Thank you," Phil murmured.

"You're welcome, sir," Jasper said, and his lips twitched. Phil arched his eyebrow a quarter of an inch, then continued on his way. He adjusted the dark red tie with silver pinstripe on loan from SHIELD wardrobe, and wondered whether he could claim that he'd spilled wine on it, and get to keep the tie. He only had a couple of suits and a few dress shirts, and the one tie. A little variety would be nice.

No. The cheapskates in wardrobe would just insist that he pay for cleaning, and forbid him from wearing any more of their outfits.

This promotion was necessary, and not just so that Phil could buy a new tie. His father needed more expensive medical care than they'd originally thought, and Phil's lazy half-brother still didn't have a job. He lived off welfare, and sent very little to his mother and Phil's father. He seemed to forget that, when Phil's step-mother was in an accident, Phil footed half the bill, and his father the other half. Damian just claimed that the job market was in a slump. The same slump it had been five years before that, and five years since.

If the mission went well, Phil would get a bonus to go with his new salary, a bonus which would cover the life-saving procedure and ICU bills, since money was still tight after the accident last year. Phil couldn't afford to screw this up. At least Nick and Jasper both knew this, and were there to support him.

Distractions would be dangerous. Distractions such as…

Oh God.

"Coulson? What're you staring at? You've got ten minutes `til you have to be at that meeting. Coulson?"

Twenty minutes had passed too quickly while Phil circulated the room. He snapped back to reality when someone bumped into him. He recognised Jasper after about three seconds, and put his now-empty glass back on the tray.

"What's up?" Jasper murmured. He could've made a real career for himself in ventriloquism.

"N-nothing," Phil said. His gaze darted around the room, drawn like a magnet to… yes.

"Now's not the time to be checking out strangers, Phil," Nick said. Jasper had to drift away; hanging around the one person too long would look suspicious. "Keep your head in the game."

Phil just nodded slowly. He fought desperately against the feelings welling up inside him, fought to keep his feet from wandering in completely the wrong direction. He succeeded when he noticed his mark beginning to move towards a secluded doorway.

But then someone touched his arm, and he knew.

"Hey," the man said softly. Phil melted inside when he heard that raspy voice, and turned.

The stranger was about the same height as him, had shaggy, dark brown hair, and was wearing wire-rimmed, half-moon glasses. He looked uncomfortable in his suit, but the green in his tie complemented his hair and eyes perfectly, and contrasted with the red of the rose in his pocket. His smile was small, but warm, and his eyes bored straight into Phil's.

He was hopelessly smitten; but that was to be expected when someone met their soul-mate.

"Hello," he said, and he swallowed. "Uh, how are you?"

The man's smile widened. "Better than I've ever been. And glad my mentor forced me to come along tonight."

"So am I," Phil said earnestly, the breath nearly stolen from his lungs with the gentle curve of the stranger's lips. "God, am I ever glad, too."

There was a buzz in his ear, a rude reminder that he was here to do a job.

"Target's opening door. Stop with the flirting, and get. Going!" Nick hissed.

"What's the matter?" the stranger asked when Phil's smile faded.

"I have to go," Phil said. He stepped away, then looked back. "I'll find you. I promise. This shouldn't take long. But I really have to go now." He could see the target going through the door, followed by someone else.

He thought his soul-mate said something else; but unless they Bonded, there was no way they could communicate telepathically. He'd just have to hope that…

"Get Jasper to keep tabs on him," he said quietly.

"Any reason why?"

Phil scowled. "About to go in, sir. Have to turn off the communicator. Just tell Sitwell, okay?"

Without waiting for a reply, he surreptitiously turned off the surveillance equipment on his person, and sneaked through the door when no one was looking.

* * *

Bruce Banner watched as the stranger with the light-brown hair and blue eyes walked away. Was it something he'd said? The bathrooms weren't that way, after all, and he couldn't think of any other reason for him to go.

He stared down into his glass of lemon, lime and bitters. He hoped his soul-mate would come back soon and find him, just like he'd promised. If he didn't… if he didn't want Bruce after all… he had no idea what he'd do. Soul-mates rarely rejected each other. To have it happen would be a devastating blow.

No. He couldn't think negatively. The stranger must have had good reason to leave. He said he would be back, so Bruce would just have to trust that he would return.

"How's your thesis going, Bruce?" Dr. Strange asked, sneaking up behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and spun around.

"Fine, sir," he said. "Only the conclusion and bibliography left to do. And I'll have to check all the in-text citations. After that, proofreading and editing, and then…" He shrugged. "Well, you know how it goes."

"You've already begun to receive recruitment offers." Strange sipped his martini (at least Bruce thought it was a martini). "And at such a young age. Are we witnessing the birth of another Tony Stark?"

Bruce laughed. This was a good distraction. "I don't think so," he said. "I'm not a genius."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Strange said, pointing at Bruce with his glass. "I do not take just anyone beneath my wing."

He knew that. Boy, did Bruce know what a huge honour it was. He laughed again, nervously, and suddenly wished that his soul-mate was there.

"Thanks," he said.

"The man with whom you were conversing. Did you know him?"

"Not yet," Bruce said. "Hope I will, though."

"Your soul-mate?"

Bruce untied his tongue. "Yeah."

"Good. Do not allow any distractions until after the conclusion. No Bonding, no Bonding ceremony. Nothing. It will be worth the wait. Trust me."

"I still want to learn his name."

"Ah." Strange nodded, and took another sip. "That is an important part of the Bonding process. You go ahead and do that when he comes back."

"You think he'll come back?" Bruce looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign of the stranger.

"I am convinced of it. He certainly seemed invested in the conversation, from where I was standing. He looked reluctant to leave."

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad you think so."

Strange patted him on the shoulder, then left.

And Bruce waited.

* * *

In the end, everything began to fall apart.

On one hand, there was an unauthorised SHIELD agent at the meeting of several crime lords, who appeared to be collaborating with them. The more that Phil heard, the more he was convinced the guy – who they'd all trusted – was a mole. He was spilling certain information that no one with his level of clearance should have known about, and would never be authorised to be used to gain trust. Pieces began to click into place.

On the other hand, this mission had been so secret that only Nick, Jasper, Phil, and the director knew about it. Which meant that they not only had the drop on Phil's target, but on the mole as well.

Seven traffickers and a mole for the price of one? Who was going to pass up that deal?

"And they'll definitely take out the three musketeers?" the mole – Connors – asked.

"The drinks server has been identified, and will be – ah," the target said, looking at a screen in front of him. "He is currently engaging in combat with one of my men."

Just then, Phil noticed the screams outside. He hoped Nick would hear what was going on through Jasper's communicator.

"The black man's van has been sighted around the corner, and a bomb is due to go off in thirty seconds."

Phil had to switch his communicator on. It would blow his cover, but—

"And the other one?"

"Tracking him now. Hmm… It would appear that he followed us in."

"What?" Connors said, jumping to his feet. "Phil Coulson is in this room?"

"Nick, there's a bomb in your van," Phil hissed into his communicator. "Get out of there _now_." He heard a whispered curse, the bang of metal, and Nick's 'all clear' just seconds later. "Jasper needs help. Get everyone out of the building, then come find me."

"Well, well, well," Travers, his target, said. Phil had shimmied up the back of a column when he entered the room, with spikes attached to the toes of his shoes. He removed the spikes and shoved them back into his inner jacket pocket. "Would you care to join us, Phil Coulson?"

"Love to," Phil snarked. He shot the chain of the chandelier in the middle of the room, briefly thanking the bad guys' lack of common sense. Their table was right beneath the over-sized ornamental chandelier. He winced at the sound of the explosion through his communicator, then leapt from the column. The chain was slithering around loops, but he only had seconds. The force of his jump caused the chandelier to swing, and he angled his body to make the ornamental light fitting go around in circles, shooting at any and all limbs in his line of sight. He felt a couple of bullets clip his skin, but the mass of crystals protected him.

Sure enough, seconds later the chandelier dropped further, and it hit several of the men in passing. Before it could hit the table, Phil leapt off, grabbing the edge of a chair as he tumbled away, and used it as a shield as he continued to fire, disabling the rest of the men and women.

Jasper burst into the room, followed by Nick, and the security guards who weren't herding the gala guests out of the convention centre. Phil dropped the chair, now that he was covered.

"They knew we were coming," he said, holstering his gun. Then the earlier events of the evening came back, and he swivelled to face Jasper. "Did you watch the man I was talking to?"

"The one you were flirting with?" Jasper asked. Phil nodded frantically. "There wasn't much time. I did see him being ushered out with the others, even though he kept trying to get back in. Why? Is he a suspect—"

"We've been called into HQ, right now," Fury said, all business. He brushed off his leather duster. "Is that Connors?"

"He won't be much longer," Jasper said, glaring at the SHIELD mole. Out of the three, he'd been closest to Connors, swapping videos and cassette tapes every so often, since they shared the same tastes in movies and music.

"Come on," Nick said. The police had arrived with the paramedics. Phil began to leave the room, when his friend grabbed him. "Where do you think you're going? We're returning to base."

"I have to find him," Phil said, pulling away. He dodged between the police and guards streaming through the ballroom, ignoring Jasper's calls.

When he reached the outside, he gazed around the crowds of people, searching for his soul-mate. So many men were in the same kind of suits, and it was dark outside. Phil hurried down the stairs, and was nearly run over by a car screeching to a halt in front of him.

"Come on," Jasper said, grasping Phil's shoulder.

"No," Phil said, shaking him off.

"Look, do you want that promotion or—"

"Coulson." It was the director, stepping out of the car which had just arrived. Phil gulped. "Debrief back at quarters. Due to this… unexpected development," he glanced at the doorway, "not to mention your excessive use of gunfire within civilian hearing range, if you want any hope of promotion within the next ten years you will come with me. Now."

Phil glanced backwards. He had to find—

"Phil!" Jasper pulled him towards the car. "C'mon. Forget about him. Think about your—"

"Jasper, I need to—"

"_You_ need this promotion. Your father needs you to have this promotion."

Phil looked at Jasper, then back to the crowds. His soul-mate was somewhere over there.

"All right," he whispered, forcing his father's pained face into his mind. "But, Jasper. Find him for me. Okay?" He grabbed Jasper's elbows. "You have to find him."

"What's he done?"

"Coulson," the director said warningly.

"Please," Phil said. "Jasper, you have to. He's my soul-mate."

Sitwell's eyes widened, and he nodded briskly. Phil mouthed 'thank you', then climbed into the car after the director.

* * *

From a distance, Bruce noticed his soul-mate climbing into a dark car, after talking with the waiter. His heart constricted painfully as the car drove away, taking… taking…

Either the guy never intended to come back, or he simply forgot about Bruce.

Which meant that he didn't care. At all.

Bruce turned away, blinking back the moisture threatening to blind him. He struggled for breath, torn between being heartbroken and being unbelievably furious. To have the one person he was meant for dangled in front of him, handsome, gently-spoken, well-dressed, with kind eyes, only to take him away half a minute later. Never to return.

Giving in to his rage, he kicked the tyre of a nearby police car, then stalked away. Soon, he broke into a trot, then a run, until he was beside his car. He rested against it, arms crossed on the roof and head touching the cold metal. The tears chose to fall, and he wiped them away fiercely. Finally, he fished out his keys, unlocked the car door, and slid in.

He had had offers, from a number of quarters. He wanted to continue studying, maybe do another PHD. It was addictive, and he adored the labs he was using.

But he had to get away. The army would help fund his research. They were interested in his articles on gamma radiation, and said that they'd wait as long as it took for him to finish his education. Then they could guarantee him a job.

Yes. The army was the best place he could go.

So he'd go.

Bruce shoved the key into the ignition. He twisted it, and the engine roared into life. He drove past ambulances, police cars, random party-goers and wait staff. Eventually, he remembered to switch on the car lights, when he realised that running over someone would be bad.

At least no one would've seen his license plate. And he never learned his soul-mate's name. Barely even talked to him. Certainly never revealed his own name. So they couldn't find each other. There was no temptation to go after someone who would just break his heart all over again.

* * *

**Soul-mate fic! Love, love, love.**

**And angst. Love me some angst.**

**This story was inspired by my own fan fic 'Rejection', when I re-read it.**

**Okay, for people who read 'What Daylight Brings' and asked about my aunt who was in hospital, she died not longer after 4pm on the tenth of May, Brisbane time. I think she was in ICU until the very end.**

**Oddly enough, ICU features in the next couple of chapters. Or maybe not all that oddly?**


	2. Soothe Me While I Sleep

"Soothe Me While I Sleep"

Bruce slept for nearly twenty-four hours straight, grateful for the ridiculously comfortable bed in one of Tony Stark's many guest rooms. They'd all trudged back to Stark Tower afterwards, and basically collapsed into bed. The consensus of opinion was 'screw debriefing'. So they lounged around, trying to get to know each other, and eventually settling on a Disney movie to ease the tension.

Until SHIELD's demands got too annoying, that is, and Tony reluctantly allowed Nick Fury into the building. Now they were sitting around a table, Bruce with a blood pressure monitor fastened around his wrist. JARVIS had reported that during the night his BP had spiked and dropped at weird intervals, so he was having to keep an eye on it. Fury was only a minute away from arriving, and the others were discussing Phil Coulson.

Bruce never even met him, which made him feel a bit left out. When he asked what the man was like, Tony summoned up a photograph on one of his screens, and everything else became background noise.

Oh god.

"That's him," he whispered, staring at the picture.

"Yeah, I know," Tony said, interrupting himself. He reached towards the screen. "I just thought I'd show you—"

"Don't," Bruce said. He forced Tony's hand away. "This is Phil Coulson?"

"We've, uh, we've established that, doc," Steve said. He pulled something out of his pocket, and Bruce finally looked away from the screen, to the few blood-stained trading cards the captain dropped onto the surface of the dining room table. "These were his. He had them on him when Loki…" He swallowed. Bruce extended his hand towards them, and touched the stains. He frowned.

"That's not his blood," he said.

"You can smell that, too?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"And… he's not dead," Bruce said. He checked his blood pressure. "That explains it. If he's been coding—"

"What do you mean, he's not dead?" Clint asked, standing with a scrape of his chair. "Fury said—"

"He lied."

"Excuse me for asking," Steve said quietly, "but is this some kind of new technology no one's mentioned? I mean, how do you know he's alive?"

"Because," Bruce said, through gritted teeth, "he's my soul-mate. If he was dead, I would be, too, Hulk or no Hulk."

Natasha and Clint gasped softly, glancing at each other. Bruce didn't realise that he was standing until Fury entered the room, announced by JARVIS at the last moment.

"You asshole," Clint said, rounding the table. "You told us Phil was dead."

"What makes you think he isn't?"

"Bruce says he isn't."

"I'd like to know how Dr. Banner came by this information," Fury said, staring at Bruce. He shrugged.

"You're not denying it," he said.

"No. He came close several times, but the medics say he'll live, so you can go visit him in an hour's time. Two at a time," he added. "Coulson's in ICU."

"The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah," Tony sang under his breath.

* * *

The others agreed not to mention the fact that Bruce and Coulson were soul-mates, respecting his desire for privacy. They even refrained from asking how he knew, when they'd never even met (to their knowledge), and he was even more thankful for that. To explain was impossible.

Standing by the agent's bedside, Bruce was plummeted back in time nearly twenty years, to the night they met. 'Days of Wine and Roses' had been playing in the background, and Bruce had looked back over that moment ten thousand times, wondering whether there was something significant about that song. They'd never had their happy days – not even a minute together – so there was nothing good to look back on. Only that thirty seconds, two minutes if you counted from the moment they saw each other until the moment Coulson had left him behind.

There was no way Bruce was going to so much as touch his hand. That could start the Bonding process, and he didn't intend to Bond with his soul-mate. At all. Even if Coulson was conscious – which he wasn't – Bruce would refuse.

The rejection that night has pushed him into the path of the army, leading to his failed attempt at the super soldier serum… and ultimately leading to the birth of the Hulk.

"So," Tony said, breaking the silence. "You and Agent. I'm kind of confused here. Was he the one you told m—"

"Fury said that Coulson oversaw the creation of the Avengers Initiative, and recommended me for it," Bruce said. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the man in the hospital bed. "Why would he do that?"

"Uh, because you're a genius? And I don't use that word lightly."

Bruce rolled his eyes. Funnily enough, the words made him think of his old mentor, when they spoke that night. "Aside from my work with gamma radiation."

Tony shifted his weight. "How long have you known that he was your soul-mate?"

"A long time. We only met the once—"

"At a ball." They whipped around, and saw a stranger standing at the edge of the curtain. "Agent Jasper Sitwell." He held out and ID. "I was at the gala that night."

Bruce squinted at him. "Are you… Were you serving drinks?"

Jasper snorted, and nodded. "Yep. We were on a mission," he jerked his head towards Coulson, "and timing was everything. Unfortunately, there was a mole. I'm sure Stark can find the full records for you. But I'm curious." He tilted his head. "Phil asked me to find you, before he left. I couldn't. Were you injured?"

"No." Bruce shook his head slowly. "I just… left. Just like he did." He looked at Coulson, then screwed his eyes shut. "If he wasn't going to wait for me—"

"I heard what he said over the radio. He said he would find you. It seems he finally did." Sitwell looked Bruce up and down. "I remember seeing a car drive off, but the lights weren't on."

"I turned them on later. I was too… strung out to remember them at first."

Tony cleared his throat. "Is it just me, or has there been some misunderstanding here?"

"You tell me, Stark," Sitwell said sharply. "I only know what Phil knows, because he told me absolutely everything that he could. He gave a complete description, trawled through the guest list, scoured the few photographs we could find. We concluded that you were someone's plus-one. CCTV wasn't exactly in abundance back then, and you never made a report to the police. You just… vanished. It nearly killed him."

"What do you mean?"

Sitwell dumped a manila folder on the end of the bed. "Save this `til last, Dr. Banner. I'm sure you don't need me to help you hack into SHIELD's files, Stark?"

"Nope," Tony said, already playing with his StarkPad. "Three seconds and I'm in."

"Good." Sitwell nodded to both of them, before his gaze wandered to Coulson, who was still sleeping. "I'll visit later, Phil. Give you a full debriefing then, if you're up to it."

Without waiting for a reply, which would never have come anyway, he left.

"Brucey, what's the date I'm looking up?"

"July seventeen, nineteen ninety-four."

Tony glanced at him, then back at the screen. "Eighteen years, huh?" He shook his head. "Long time to be away from your soul-mate."

"Is your girlfriend your soul-mate?"

"No. Pepper's never found her soul-mate, but we love each other anyway, so there's no harm."

"I love Betty," Bruce said softly. "But the Hulk doesn't. I can just… tell." Tony hummed under his breath, and then dragged a chair over towards the bed. He gestured for Bruce to do the same, then shuffled closer.

"Georg Travers, aka The Policeman, was a corrupt officer SHIELD had been tracking for seven months. Through intel, they learned about a meeting which was going to take place during a charity ball. The director at the time instructed three of the best agents – two juniors, one handler – to infiltrate. The handler – Nick Fury – waited outside in a surveillance van, which was later blown up. He escaped, but still took a piece of metal to the eye after a second explosion, which no one knew about in time. Well, that explains the patch."

"Go on," Bruce said, still watching Coulson's chest as it moved slightly, steadily. "The other two?"

"Jasper Sitwell was undercover as part of the wait staff, and Phil Coulson made the rounds as a partygoer. He made contact with Sitwell twice, once to deliver a drink, and once when Sitwell ensured that Agent wasn't distracted. But he was distracted nonetheless, and started unauthorised small-talk with a stranger, who later disappeared. Coulson asked Sitwell to keep the unknown civilian in his sights. The civilian spoke with a man later identified as a Dr. Strange," Bruce made a strangled noise, "but less than a minute later the proceedings were interrupted."

"How?"

"A hit-man concealed in the crowd attacked Sitwell, prompting someone to sound the alarm. There was soon an explosion outside – the one at the van, which Fury only escaped because Coulson warned him – and then gunfire from the room where the meeting was held. Security, police, and ambulance were called.

"Coulson's conversation with the stranger had ended when he had to follow Travers – his target – in to the meeting. That was where Agent found out that there was a mole in SHIELD, someone named Connors. He warned Fury to get out of the rigged van, took down the eight bad guys – and girls – in the room, and then attempt to leave. The director accosted him outside the building, and Sitwell had to urge Coulson to go. He later tried to find the man Coulson had been speaking to… But we know that part, so moving on."

Bruce tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He scrunched the bed-sheets in his hands, and went to tell the Hulk not to emerge.

But the Hulk was silent. He was listening, too.

"The report says that, while in conversation with the director – Clancy Livingston, if you can credit it – Coulson was told that there was no way in hell he'd ever be promoted after his behaviour that night. Excessive gunfire, getting distracted, shooting a fellow agent, and initially disobeying direct orders. Seems a little rough, considering that Connors really was a mole all along."

"Disobeying orders?"

"Apparently he tried to walk away from the director, even after he was told to get in the car. Sitwell really had to convince him, and promise to find… well, you, Brucey. Only he didn't, so it was actually all for nothing."

Neither spoke for a few minutes.

"There's nothing else in the report?" Bruce asked.

"There are some gaps. But… hello. It looks like there was more than one traitor. Director Livingston wasn't so squeaky clean."

"What?"

"He was the 'intel' that sold out Travers. Only two days later, Coulson, Sitwell, and Fury proved that the director arranged for them to be at the party that night. They were climbing the ladder too quickly, with rumours that Fury would be director of SHIELD within five years' time. Livingston felt threatened, so he arranged for them to be assassinated in the context of an op gone wrong. Sitwell was fine, but Fury lost an eye, and Agent lost… you."

Bruce dragged in a breath, and he leaned closer to the bed. But he stayed in his seat. "Is there any more?"

"Yeah. Coulson's finances had been drained the last couple of months. His father was in hospital, and Coulson had been trying to pay for the medical bills. It was serious, and ICU is expensive." Tony paused. "Well, by normal people's standards."

"A promotion would've helped," Bruce said dully.

"It would've. All three did receive promotions within the week, but… son of a bitch."

"What?"

"Sitwell's left a note here, telling us to swap to the folder." Tony gestured to it. "Your go."

"…I can't. I can't do it, Tony."

The billionaire sighed, and he leaned past Bruce to pick up the file. "Fine. Make me do all the work. Hey, hey! I'm kidding. I'm just kidding, okay?" Bruce nodded. "Okay. Let's see. Ugh, paper." He pulled out a bunch of documents. "Right. The first one… oh."

"What?"

"The next week, Coulson had to take the day off to attend his dad's funeral." Bruce hung his head. "The bonus that came with his promotion paid for it. W-wow. That's, uh," Tony swallowed audibly, "that's hard. With his promotion, Phil helped his step-mother with paying the bills until she could find work and support herself properly. He continued to climb the ranks over the years."

Tony went through page after page, including a copy of the guest list with every name crossed out in various inks, marking each dead end. There was also a computer-generated image of the man Coulson had been trying to find, nearly the splitting image of Bruce back then, as well as later pictures, also computer-generated, showing what he might've looked like after three years, then five years, ten, fifteen… and then a photograph of Bruce Banner in one of his articles, circled several times over with red ink.

"Hello," Tony said again, fishing out what looking like a script. "A transcript of a conversation held at six twenty-six a.m., July eighteen, nineteen ninety-four, between Agents Sitwell and Coulson."

"What did they say?"

"Do you want a condensed version, or a version where I do funny voices?"

"Tony…"

"I have a better idea," Tony said, and he shoved the papers into Bruce's hands. "I'll find it so we can listen. If there's a transcript, there'll be a recording."

Bruce placed the documents on the bed. They were burning his hands. Tony hummed again, the noise ceasing as he pressed play. (Bruce didn't even bother to wonder how Tony had found the file, and so quickly.)

"_Jasper…"_

"_Phil, where are you?"_

"_The police and medics have gone. Everyone's gone. I've been watching them for four hours. He's not here."_

"_I know. I told you I couldn't find him."_

"…_Jasper, I thought he'd come back. Why didn't he come back? Why didn't he wait? Doesn't he want me? Why? Why doesn't he—"_

"_Calm down, Phil! Look, I'll come pick you up."_

"_Make it soon."_

"_I will."_

"_He isn't here, Jasper."_

"_I know. I'm on my way."_

"_Livingston said there won't be a promotion."_

"_God, Phil. I'm sorry."_

"_No, wait. It gets better."_

"_Better?"_

"_Got a call from Lisa an hour ago."_

"_Your step-mom?"_

"_Yeah."_

"…_No."_

"_He's dead."_

"_Phil—"_

"_My father's dead."_

"_Just stay there, Phil, okay? Promise me you won't move."_

"_Okay." [Slightly hysterical laughter] "They say things come in threes. No extra money for the hospital bills, no more father receiving medical care, and I lost my soul-mate. At least if he was dead I would be, too. But he isn't dead. He just doesn't want me."_

"_Phil, I'm on my way. I'll have to hang up soon, but I'll call back on the car-phone."_

"_You'd better. `Cause, Jasper?"_

"_What is it, Phil?"_

"…_I still have my gun on me, and I'm this close to shoving the barrel into my mouth and squeezing the trigger."_

"_Shit. Don't do it, Phil. Stay right where you are, and throw the gun as far away from you as you can. Got it?"_

_[A rustle, a grunt, and a far-off clatter] "Done."_

_[A sigh] "Thank God. I'm gonna hang up now, but I'll call right back on the car-phone. Don't move from that spot."_

"_Okay."_

That was the end of the first conversation. Bruce was staring at Coul— Phil again. But this time his vision was watery, and his sight was wavering.

Tony picked up the documents, and Bruce could see in his peripheral that there were tears on his cheeks. He sniffled, and then turned the pages.

"There's another conversation," he said, skimming over the text. "But it's basically the same thing. Jasper trying to keep Phil from losing it, Phil sounding more and more hysterical, and constantly repeating that his soul-mate didn't want him, and asking why he didn't want him. You know, most people would be crying over the loss of their father, or raging over the loss of a promotion, depending on the kind of person they are. But Phil… he was mourning a triple loss, and it was the third thing he was obsessing over. You." He met Bruce's gaze. "He only wanted—"

"Stop!" Bruce said, and he knocked the documents out of Tony's hands, before stalking to the curtain. "I can't deal with this."

"You'll have to," Tony snapped, gathering up the documents. He shoved them back into the folder. "I understand where you're coming from; you thought you'd been abandoned. We all feel like that sometimes. But he asked you to stay, and you should've stayed. If you'd done your civic duty and stayed behind to give the police a report, Sitwell would've found you, and Phil wouldn't have been alone when he found out about his dad."

"Stop it…"

"And he would've been there for you when you became the Hulk."

"I wouldn't have joined the army if I wasn't trying to get away from all of this!" Bruce shouted.

"You were running away?"

"Yes."

"Well," Tony picked up his StarkPad, "I guess that is what you do best, isn't it?"

He pushed past Bruce on the way out of ICU. There was no change in Phil's vital statistics, according to the monitor. He swallowed, glanced at the files, and walked over to the bed. He opened the folder and flicked through all the pages, until he found the one thing Tony hadn't mentioned. It was a photocopy of a crinkled, torn note, which had been taped back together.

'_Hi, Bruce. I'm Phil. We met eighteen years ago, and'_

'_Doctor Banner, my name is Phil Coulson, and I'_

'_You probably don't remember' [a note beside it: 'of course he'll remember']_

'_Bruce, I'm Phil, and we need to talk.'_

'_I need to explain something to'_

'_Can we start again?'_

'_Please go out to dinner with me ton'_

'_I love you.' [a note beside it: 'What the hell am I doing?']_

'_Why didn't you wait for me?' [a note beside it: 'What did I do wrong?']_

They must have been introductions he was trying out, for when they met again on the Helicarrier. Only they never did.

They almost missed their chance, thanks to Loki.

Each phrase had a line drawn through it, in some cases almost violently. There were some spots where the ink was a little smudged, from water or something. (Bruce hoped it was just water.)

He collapsed into Tony's chair, which was closer to the head of the hospital bed. Gingerly, he reached out, and touched Phil's hand. There was an instantaneous reaction. The hand jerked away immediately, and Bruce had to grab it back. Phil's forehead creased with lines, and his lips curled around the breathing tube as he whimpered. Bruce held tight to the hand, still trying to pull away, and he stood up. Phil's BP was spiking. A doctor hurried into the room.

"I've got him," Bruce said, continuing to clutch Phil's hand. He leaned against the pillows and stroked Phil's hair. He kissed away another frown line with every brush of his lips. The beeping of the monitor gradually slowed to an acceptable rate, and Bruce stayed there for an age. He could tell they weren't Bonding – on the contrary, Phil seemed to be fighting it – and he acknowledged to himself that he wasn't the only one who'd been hurting for nearly twenty years.

* * *

**Ooh. Angst. As I said, I love angst.**

**Please review!**

**(Oh, Phil. Why do I hurt you so? Clearly I love Phil whump as well.)**


	3. When Awoken

"When Awoken"

It was two more days before Phil woke up. Bruce felt his hand twitch, and looked up into two blue eyes, watching him blankly. He smiled tentatively, and squeezed Phil's hand.

"Hey," he said. "I, uh…" He trailed off. "Can you hear me?" Phil blinked. "I think we need to talk. But when you're out of ICU, and more lucid. I'm… I'm not leaving you."

Phil's eyes closed, and his breathing evened out again. Bruce laid his head back down, wincing at the twinge of pain in his neck, and trapped Phil's hand under his cheek.

When Pepper visited, she forced Bruce to go and take a shower, and gave him a change of clothes. He shaved while he was in the bathroom, and combed his hair. That was when he heard Pepper talking, and opened the bathroom door.

She was speaking to Phil, who was smiling around the intubator, and letting her hold his hand.

"…wants you to stay at the tower with us. He's already bought up medical equipment, and Dr. Banner will be around."

Phil's BP sped up, and Bruce was by his side in seconds. He cupped Phil's cheek, and forced him to look up.

"Calm down," he said. "I'm here. I'm… Phil, please!"

Medical staff began to flock into the room, and Pepper dragged Bruce towards the curtains.

"Let the staff do their job," she said. "They've only let you stay here because Tony said that you're Phil's soul-mate, and because you're also a doctor. But if they find out the truth—"

"I am," Bruce said, digging his heels into the floor. "He's my soul-mate. You have to let me stay."

Pepper looked from Phil, back to Bruce. "Your touch should calm him down, not make his pulse speed up to dangerous levels."

"Nevertheless—"

"Have you Bonded yet?"

"…No."

"Then it looks like he's rejecting the Bond," she said. Her voice softened when he went still. "Come on. You need something to eat and drink."

The curtain was yanked closed by a stern-looking med student, and so Bruce followed Pepper out of ICU.

But damned if he was going to be kept away for long.

* * *

Phil's heart had been nicked by the staff. It was patched in a long surgery while the Chitauri attacked Manhattan, and another small procedure had to be undertaken a few days later. He was rushed off to theatre a matter of minutes after Pepper took Bruce away. They returned when his blood pressure began to behave erratically again.

"If something happens to him," Bruce said, shaking his head as he stared at the empty space.

"You'll know," Pepper said. She tried to rub his arm, but he yanked it away.

"But he'll never know," he said. "I want to… I want…"

"What do you want?" she asked gently.

"I want to talk with him. It all went wrong, and it's… it's been nearly twenty years."

He sat down on the chair he'd slept in less than an hour ago, and hugged himself. He didn't know how to feel or what to think, except for the fact that his soul-mate was in pain, and Bruce couldn't do anything about it. Neither of them had been able to comfort the other in their times of need. Not that night, not since, and not now. While Phil lay dying on the Helicarrier, the Hulk was tearing up the countryside, having played into the hands of the alien who'd tried to kill Bruce's soul-mate.

Soul-mate.

Soul-mate.

Bruce had a soul-mate.

Of course, everyone had a soul-mate. You would know from a single look who your soul-mate was, become one with them after Bonding, and when one died the other followed. The symptoms mimicked those of a heart attack, a swift and fatal one.

Not even the Hulk could survive it.

Speaking of the Hulk, he was keeping awfully quiet. Bruce would wait however long it took for Phil to come out of surgery, and make sure he was all right. But then he would have to retreat to a safe environment and find out what was going on, what was keeping the Other Guy so silent.

It didn't take that long; but it felt like millennia passed before Phil was being wheeled back into ICU. Bruce stood aside, hovering, watching the doctors and nurses do their work. He felt so out of place, despite his medical degrees and experience. He'd been out of hospital work for far too long to understand everything that was going on. Even the academic articles Tony had found for him didn't fully explain the complex machines beeping and the new terms being thrown around the room.

Yet there was no need to calm the Hulk. He didn't even stir, aside from a low grumble of displeasure. Bruce held back until he was allowed to approach.

"You are Agent Coulson's soul-mate?" Dr. Whiting asked, glancing up from the chart.

"Yes," Bruce said, and he cleared his throat. "I am."

"Strange," she murmured. "You're not listed here."

"We haven't… we, uh, haven't actually Bonded. Yet."

Whiting cast a sharp look at the rest of the medical staff around the bed. "I was told that he was showing signs of distress while you were around, Dr. Banner. That your touch didn't soothe him."

"There's a r-reason for that—"

"As long as you're here, my patient will not have a chance to recover. Please leave."

"You can't do—"

"I can, and I will," she said brusquely, and she slotted the chart back into the cage at the end of the bed. "You have no authority here. Regardless of whether or not you're his soul-mate, it's not official, and I would need to have his confirmation before allowing you any more liberties. He will be watched round-the-clock here, and he will be released into Mr. Stark's care within two weeks, assuming all goes well."

"You know what they say when you assume," Bruce muttered. He glared at her. "I want to be here. I want my soul-mate. I want… I want Phil." The realisation shocked him.

"And I want to ride a pink, glittery unicorn to work every day, but we don't always get what we want. My primary concern is for my patients to get well again, and there's no way I'm releasing him until I'm satisfied that he is on the road to recovery. If you are going to be detrimental to this process in any way, you must be removed. Now go."

Bruce took a step closer to the bed. The staff began to move towards him, just a few steps. He gazed at Phil, conflicted.

In the end, he left. But he kicked a supply trolley as he passed for good measure.

* * *

Phil came fully out of the haze of drugs during the night. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and looked around.

No one there. And he wasn't in a hospital.

He had vague memories of conversations happening around him, of being moved from one room to another, a long ride in… an ambulance? Something like that. Pepper might've been there, which meant Stark probably was as well.

Stark… Was he in Stark Tower?

"JARVIS?" he croaked.

"Good morning, Agent Coulson."

"Morning?"

"The time is one twenty-two a.m., sir. How can I help you?"

"What day is… how long has it been?"

"You were admitted to ICU four weeks ago, and brought to Stark Tower— excuse me, sir, the Future Avengers Mansion seventeen days ago."

Phil shifted in bed and grimaced. "Have I been lucid? I don't remember… much."

"You have been weaned off the stronger painkillers. We were informed that you do not appreciate being unable to think clearly."

"Who's my doctor?"

JARVIS didn't answer right away. "There are a number of people working on your case, primarily Dr. Tricia Whiting. Sir, if you are wondering about Dr. Banner…"

He swallowed. "Where is he?"

"We have not been informed of the doctor's whereabouts. He left New York City three weeks ago, and has not been in contact."

"Uh, w-why did he leave?"

"Perhaps Miss Potts can answer your questions when she checks on you in seven hours' time?"

And so Phil went back to sleep.

* * *

He woke to a hand stroking his hair. It felt familiar and wrong, all at once. He tried to push into the touch, to make it right; but that just made it worse.

"Are you awake? Oh my gosh, Phil. Just stay still, okay?"

"Yes, Mom," he mumbled.

"JARVIS? Could you get someone in here? A doctor—"

"Already on the way, Miss Potts."

"Thank you."

"Pepper?" Phil said. She pushed a glass of water against his lips, so he accepted a few small gulps. Once she seemed satisfied, Pepper placed the water aside, and turned back to him, beaming.

"I'm so glad you've woken up properly," she said. "God, it hasn't been the same without you, Phil. We've all been on edge, Clint and Natasha have been impossible, Tony's been pulling all-nighters again, Steve's been guarding the room heavily, Thor wanted to bring healers from Asgard. You've been getting flowers and get well cards and balloons. I threw out the daisies, by the way."

"You knew about my allergy?"

"It was on SHIELD's medical file. Br— someone checked it out."

Phil tensed. "You didn't mention Dr. Banner."

"And you never mentioned that he was your soul-mate," Pepper said, glaring at him. "Slipped your mind?"

"We don't know each other _that_ well, Pepper," he said wryly.

"I told you that I've never found my soul-mate." She looked down for a moment, and he felt a twinge of guilt.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," he said. "Mr. Stark is lucky to have you."

"You will call them by their first names now, won't you? Fury's put you in charge of them. I think he's worried about sending you out on the field again."

"Sounds right," Phil said. Pepper helped him sit up, propping pillows behind his back. "He doesn't trust me not to do something like that again, does he?"

"I think he knows you'd do it anyway, but that's not why he's restricting you."

Phil raised his eyebrows. "I don't want to, but I think I need to, know why."

"It, uh, might have something to do with the fact that the others insisted?" she said. "In pretty definite terms." Phil steadfastly kept his jaw from dropping.

"And Bruce?" he asked. He didn't actually mean to say that; it just came out, like it'd been at the forefront of his mind, raring to escape. "You really don't know where he is?"

"The intensive care doctors sent him away because he was agitating you." Phil looked at his hands, no Bonding marks, no sign to show that he belonged to anyone or that anyone belonged to him. He wasn't the only one in the world in this situation; but he'd bet anything that none of them lost their chance in the way he lost his.

"How was he agitating me?" he asked.

"Bruce was touching you. I think he was trying to Bond, at least subconsciously, and your body was rejecting it."

"What?" He struggled to sit up further, and she pushed him back. "How could that happen? A body doesn't just… reject a Bond with its soul-mate."

"Well, you always have to be different," Pepper said wryly. "Know any reason for it?"

"We…" He sighed. "We'd just hurt each other again."

"From what Tony said, you never had a chance to hurt each other at all."

"Oh, we did," Phil said, and he chuckled hollowly. "I chose my job over him, and it made him…"

"Made him what, Phil?"

He studied her. "How do you know about any of this?"

"Tony read the SHIELD files."

"Of course he did," Phil murmured. "I chose to go through with a job which turned out to be a set-up."

"If you hadn't gone through with it, you wouldn't have known about the mole, or about the crooked director, and you wouldn't have known about the bomb." His eyebrows shot up. "You saved Fury's life, and probably countless others. It was the right call to make."

"Was it? When the product of this whole thing resulted in the Hulk, which resulted in mass destruction, and ruined my soul-mate's life?"

Pepper blinked a few times before answering. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he said.

"But… where did you get the idea…?"

"From Br— Dr. Banner."

"When? You never even saw him again until—"

"I heard it," he said. "And saw it. Video footage on the Helicarrier."

"From when Bruce was on the Helicarrier?" Pepper said. Phil nodded. "But that was only a few hours before…"

"Before I got stabbed. Yeah."

She shook her head. "You allowed yourself to—"

"Of course not! I'm not suicidal. I've been allowing him to get on with a normal life, or at least I tried to. When I couldn't find him, and when I kept getting more dangerous missions, I resolved myself to give him the space to find someone who could love him just as much as I d— would. I could've stopped working for SHIELD, and protected him better. But." He shrugged, then winced at the lance of pain. "Somebody has to do the job, so somebody else's life will always be in danger. That's why I became the best I could."

"The best that SHIELD has to offer," Pepper said, and she squeezed his hand. "And now we get you all to ourselves."

"_All_ of you?"

Pepper paused. "What happened on the Helicarrier? What did you hear?"

He sighed, recalling the conversation. "He was talking with Stark – fine, Tony – about what the Hulk… is. Tony was suggesting one thing after the other, until Bruce said that his theory… his theory was that the Hulk was a physical manifestation of the pain and anger he felt when he was rejected by his soul-mate. Tony didn't seem to believe him. Bruce said that that was why he started working for the army. So he could get away from the memory, and get away from wherever his soul-mate was." Phil blinked away tears he hadn't been expecting. "He wanted to be far away from… and I won't repeat the words he used to describe me."

"Phil—"

"I deserved them," he blurted out. "My screw-up, of getting into that car with the director instead of going to find my soul-mate, sent Bruce right into the arms of the military, and that stupid super soldier project. Bruce told Tony that the serum he created should have worked, but it probably didn't because of what happened that night. Because of me. And he never lets himself forget it, Pepper. You know how we've managed to track him all this time?" She shook her head. "Hacking into his phones, computers, anything we can associate with him. We've scrambled the signals so that Ross couldn't find him, but Bruce's passwords all have a common denominator. The date that we met."

Pepper stood up, came around the other side of the bed, and curled up next to him. She began to stroke his hair again. It still felt wrong.

"I'm sorry, Phil," she said.

"I feel so guilty," he whispered. "He could've been so much more successful, happily married, maybe even a father."

"Married to who?"

"His girlfriend. Betty Ross." Phil looked down. "Well, it's not like I've been entirely faithful, either. With no one there to betray, there's no need. I lost my chance, accepted it, and moved on." He sighed again. "Bruce is needed here. I'm going to ask for a transfer."

"You're doing no such thing," Pepper said, indignant. "I'm sure you can work this all out. Look at me and Tony."

"Not sure you two are the best example, Pepper," he said dryly. "Even as I was dying, I knew that if I lived – or if the Hulk saved Bruce from going with me – it would be better to cut all ties. He needs the Avengers more than I do. If I survived, I was counting on him not finding out in time, if at all."

Pepper watched him, then kissed his forehead. Again, it felt wrong.

"So that's why you rejected the Bond," she said.

"I only hope that wherever he's gone, he's safe," Phil said, voice soft as he pictured his soul-mate. "I've only done this to stop hurting him. If he gets hurt again because of me… I'll never forgive myself. J-just as he'll never forgive me."

* * *

Bruce stopped watching the footage from his hide-out in Minnesota. Tony came back on the screen.

"When Cap finds out that I've been talking to you all this time, he'll give me hurt-puppy eyes, and I don't think I can handle that," he said. "It'll be worse than whatever Barton and Romanov cook up for me."

"Then just don't let them find out," Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes.

"They'll find out anyway. Bru-uce." He drew the name out. "Come back home, okay?"

"I don't have a home."

"You do here," Tony said insistently. "Where Agent is, and where we are."

"I have things to do, places to go—"

"Listen, the others have lives to get on with as well, but they're here for Phil. You should be, too, more than anyone."

"He rejected the Bond! I didn't even mean to try it, and he rejected it anyway!"

"And now you know why," Tony said. "I was watching the live stream as well. He's been blaming himself all these years, and you've been blaming him. He's trying to give you an out here. If you take it – if you don't fight for him, since he's clearly not fighting for you – then you're not the man I thought you were."

"We barely know each other, Stark," Bruce snapped.

"So this is you running away again? First to Missouri—"

"Minnesota—"

"And where will it be next? Pick a place on the map, any place, as long as it's not where your _soul-mate_ is?"

"You have Pepper."

"But she's not my soul-mate," Tony said, looking desperate. "Don't you realise how lucky you are to have a realistic chance? Talk with Phil, get to know each other, and stop with the angst."

Bruce sat back, still staring at the screen but not really seeing it. "Who's your soul-mate, Tony?"

He sagged in his lab chair. "A friend. Someone who would never have got into the army with a male soul-mate, especially one with my reputation. Exceptions are made sometimes, for people who don't just have the right connections, but the right looks. And no matter how good a connection to a Stark is – when it's this Stark," he pointed to himself, "the colour of the skin is still a drawback. I did the noble, self-sacrifice-y thing. This was way before I became Iron Man, so go me for being noble on at least one other occasion." He fist-pumped sarcastically. Bruce dropped his eyes.

"It's all right for you to be together now, isn't it? With his new responsibilities, and you being a superhero—"

"But I'm in love with Pepper." Tony cocked his head. "Are you in love with General Ross's daughter?"

"I thought I was," Bruce said. "Looking back… I did love her. But knowing that I lost my chance, and how hard it's been for Phil… how he's just as much the injured party, maybe more so, it's changed things. And seeing him in hospital. The Bonding process began, and his body reacted against it. He would've been so receptive to it before. He _was_ receptive of my touch initially."

"I never Bonded. Otherwise," Tony smiled ruefully, "nothing would've kept us apart."

Bruce brought up the live feed again. Pepper was telling Phil everything that had happened since he was stabbed by Loki. She was describing how Bruce had calmed him once. The look on Phil's face – shock, hope, then crushing disappointment – convinced him.

"I'm coming home," he said as soon as he switched back to Tony.

"Great! I'll send a plane. Or, hey! Do you want me to come pick you up in the armour?"

"No thanks, Tony. I'll make my own way. I need the time to think."

* * *

**Golly. Tony's right; we need to get rid of the angst.**

**Reunion next chapter! Gah!**


	4. Back in the NYC

"Back in the NYC"

"You are being ridiculous," Natasha said, trying to force Phil back onto the bed. He glared at her.

"I want to take advantage of my newfound clarity of mind, and go for a damn walk," he said.

"Just off the painkillers; now I know how he feels when we try to leave medical early," Clint said, watching from the seat by the bed. The only thing missing from the picture was a bucket of popcorn.

"Neither of us have ever been this injured before," she said.

"Perth?" Phil said. "Chile? Budapest Mark Two? Ringing any bells?"

Natasha frowned slightly. "And you made us stay where we were. Do you remember that?"

Admitting defeat in the face of potential hypocrisy, Phil resigned himself to staying in bed for awhile yet. He was at least allowed to walk as far as the bathroom – assisted by a four-legged cane – so maybe if he rested up, he'd be walking around the tower in no time at all. It sounded perfect.

"Very well," he said, leaning back. "But I expect books, reality TV, and puzzles, since I've been forbidden from doing paperwork."

"Aw," Clint said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You know you wouldn't want to risk filling out a form wrong."

He nodded. "Pepper's lent me a few books. I don't think much of her sense of humour, though."

Clint snorted as he sifted through the half dozen paperbacks on the bedside table. "I don't know, boss. These all involve spies and espionage. You know." He snorted again, and then coughed, fist over his mouth. "For Mills and Boon novels."

Natasha picked up the first few. "I've read one of these. You might enjoy it. Or I could find a male-male romance for you instead?"

"You mean as research?" Clint asked, still looking at Phil.

"That was the idea, yes," she replied. There was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Phil studied his specialists, and he hesitated.

"How much do you know?" he asked. Natasha's smile disappeared.

"Stark is not the only one capable of accessing SHIELD's files," she said.

"Or hacking into the security footage in this room," Clint added, also serious. "It'll all be good, Phil. You'll see."

"I wish I shared your optimism," Phil said, leaning back into the pillows. He reached out. "Okay, Romanov. Do your worse. Hand me a book."

* * *

"Next time," Tony said, helping a bruised and battered Bruce Banner into the Quinjet, "I'm picking you up. On the plus side, I think Captain America is about to kill General Ross. Wanna watch?"

Bruce shook his head, still trembling. Only a quarter of the way to New York, he'd been spotted by a soldier on holiday. He recognised Bruce, got word to Ross, and within an hour the army had ambushed him. A series of darts had been shot into his neck from a distance, and whatever they'd been coated with, it'd knocked him out. The Hulk tried to fight its way out; but Bruce had no energy left, and he just let himself slip into unconsciousness.

When he didn't get in contact with Tony after twelve hours, the billionaire had figured that he forgot to call with his plans, or just didn't think to tell him. When a day went by, Tony called every B&B, motel, and hostel along the way, and trawled security footage. When he finally saw Bruce being taken away, it was just a matter of tracing him through the tracker in his sneakers (and Bruce decided to keep the sneakers from now on, privacy be damned). Then Natasha and Clint purloined a Quinjet, Steve came along for the ride, and Tony flew on ahead of them to stake out the situation while Thor stayed behind to watch over Phil.

The things which had been done to Bruce were… not nice. The Other Guy hadn't been able to come out. Sometimes he even found it difficult to care enough to fight.

But then he'd remember Phil's disappointed face, and he'd struggle against whatever chemicals were being injected into him, or whatever torture was being inflicted to see how quickly he healed.

Thank God the Avengers had arrived. Bruce had been wearing the best clothes he owned when he was taken. They could probably be mended, or at least cleaned. If he'd Hulked out, they would've ended up beyond repair. And… he just wanted to see Phil. And seeing him meant that he had to be dressed nicely if they were going to start again, or try to.

Judging by the blood dripping from his nose, it would take more than just some needlework and a once-over with a clothes brush to salvage this in time.

"Tony, could you lend me some clothes when we get back to the tower?" he asked over the noise of the `jet's blades. "And I might need some tissues to—"

"Here," Natasha said, pulling him onto a seat and then opening a first aid kit.

"Behave yourself, and Papa will buy you a nice, new suit to wear for your date," Tony said. Steve hopped back into the Quinjet just then, grim-faced, with blood on his knuckles, and maybe even scratches. From Ross's teeth? Bruce hoped so.

"That felt good," the captain said. "Let's get this show on the air, before I go beat in a few more heads."

"You're such a romantic, Steve," Tony said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. "See you guys back at the mansion."

Then he jetted away, and Steve closed the door. Clint gave them a thumbs-up from the pilot seat.

"Buckle yourselves in," he said. "Health and safety is important."

"Thanks, guys," Bruce said, leaning back in his seat with cotton stuck up his nostrils.

"You're welcome, doc," Steve said, and he beamed from his seat opposite, while Natasha went to join Clint.

And they lifted off.

* * *

Thor didn't take his eyes off Phil's sleeping form, even as Steve trudged into the room, hands now clean and the cuts already healing.

"How is he?" he asked.

"He slumbers peacefully," Thor said, smiling fondly. "You have returned with the good doctor?"

"Yeah."

"I knew you would not fail." He looked up at Steve. "And I knew that you would not return until he was in your care."

Steve shrugged, smiling with the relief he felt every time he rescued someone. "Bruce seems fine. He's more worried about being presentable before he talks to Phil. Maybe he should have a night's sleep first? It's getting late, and Tony's taking his measurements for a new suit."

Thor nodded, and went back to watching Phil. "Upon occasion, he has murmured Banner's name. Sometimes he has smiled, sometimes he has frowned. It is not fever, and has not the appearance of hallucination. He is merely dreaming of his soul-mate."

"After Tony told us what they'd read about that night, I wish I could go back in time and change it for them," Steve said, sinking into the chair beside Thor. "Or that I could've saved Agent Coulson from all of this on the Helicarrier, so that he and Bruce could've been together sooner."

"Aye," Thor murmured. "I believe that we have all had these thoughts. If it were not for the day my parents introduced me to Loki or when I met the Lady Jane, I would not have known how swiftly it is possible to feel affection for another."

Steve patted him on the shoulder. "I'll take over now. It's getting late. Get some sleep, and we'll talk it over tomorrow. Formulate a plan, just in case they take too long getting together."

"We are all of us master strategists," Thor said as he stood up. "Good night, captain."

"Good night, Thor."

Once he was alone with Phil, Steve knelt by the bed, elbows digging into the mattress and hands pressed palm-to-palm.

"Dear God," he whispered. "Please continue to heal Phil quickly, and please let him Bond with Bruce. The thought of two soul-mates never getting together, when it'd be so easy…" He trailed off. "I hate the serum, God. I know we're not supposed to hate, but it's keeping me alive when h-he's dead. And Peggy doesn't remember me, not when I talked to her on the phone or when I visited her. There's really nothing left for me except work and my friends. So please fix them." He gazed at Phil for a moment. "Fix my friends."

He barely breathed the word 'amen' before getting back to his chair. He slumped back in it, thinking about the past, and hoping for a better future. For all of them.

* * *

When Bruce struggled to his elbows post-sleep, he noticed something dark by his wardrobe.

"JARVIS," he groaned. "Lights. Uh, not too bright?"

"Yes, sir," the AI said, and the room was dimly lit immediately. Bruce squinted, and recognised that it was a casual suit, hanging from the top of the cupboard. He didn't remember buying it.

"Did… did Tony get this for me?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"What is that, sir?"

"The suit," Bruce said, fingering the material. It was nice. Soft, durable, probably flame-retardant, knowing Tony. It wouldn't withstand the Hulk; but just for a conversation with Phil, it would do.

"Yes, Dr. Banner. Mr. Stark ordered the suit for you yesterday evening, and it arrived this morning. Agent Coulson is not yet awake. However, he is due to take his medication in approximately forty-five minutes' time. I could arrange for you to bring his breakfast?"

"Sounds good," Bruce said. He grabbed underwear and a dressing gown, and then wandered into the en suite. Someone had unpacked his things – probably Clint or Natasha – while he got into pyjamas last night, but they seemed to know where to put everything so that he didn't have to go searching in weird places.

Half an hour later, he was showered, shaved, and getting dressed. There was a knock at his door.

"Are you decent?" Clint called.

"Sort of," Bruce replied. That seemed to be good enough for the archer, who waltzed in without a care and began searching through his drawers.

"These'll do," he said, tossing a pair of socks over his shoulder. They landed right next to the shoes Tony had also bought for him. "Tie or no tie? Phil probably won't be in the right mood to use it to pull you into a kiss – I think you'll have to lead – and it'll just get in the way. Besides, this isn't too dressy. Hate to admit it, but Stark has good taste. Not so fancy that it makes you think of… that night," he cleared his throat, "but it shows that you mean business. You do, don't you?" He narrowed his eyes. "Do Natasha and I have to pull you aside?"

"He's my soul-mate," Bruce said softly. "I think I do love him. I can't help but love him. We were meant to be together. You know," he laughed, "any of the times I've actually seen him up-close, I've never really hated him at all. I had no reason to the first time; subsequent times, he's been recovering from surgery, and I've known the truth about that night."

"Good," Clint said. He straightened up. "I'll grab his food from the kitchen, and meet you outside his room."

"Hey," Bruce said when Clint reached the door. The archer glanced back over his shoulder. "Thanks."

Clint held the doorframe for a few seconds. "Ever since I knew him, whenever someone's mentioned soul-mates around him, his façade's cracked just a little bit. I always figured it was because he'd never met his soul-mate, or they were in a coma, or in a nursing home. Maybe even in jail for mass-murder. Now that I know the truth…" He trailed off, shrugging. "It's not as dire as I'd imagined, but it's not good, either. He's a great guy, and he's changed so many lives for the better. Look at me. Look at Natasha." Bruce smiled. "He deserves his soul-mate, and I'm glad it's one of us. Someone I can trust."

Then he disappeared, and Bruce hurried to finish getting ready.

* * *

Phil looked up, startled, when he heard the knock at the door. He'd been deeply involved in a chase scene which – surprisingly – didn't contain any damsel-in-distress moments, not even a single, heaving bosom. The hero and heroine kicked ass, took no prisoners, and bantered at a realistic level. It was like heaven, even though some of the moves were ones he imagined even Natasha would have trouble executing.

Just as the romantic leads managed to sneak a kiss – unaware that a villain was stalking them, even now – there were a few tentative raps.

"Come in!" he called, blushing as he shoved the book underneath his pillow. His heart caught in his throat as Bruce walked into the room, tray in hand.

"Hey," he said. His voice was just as raspy as it had been that night. But that wasn't what caught Phil's attention.

"Someone hurt you?" he asked, staring at the discolouration near Bruce's temples, and a few scratches emerging from his hairline. Bruce cleared his throat as he approached.

"Just a little incident yesterday," he said. "Involving, uh, General Ross." Phil winced in sympathy, watching as Bruce placed the tray on his lap.

"Thanks," he murmured. Bruce didn't straighten right away. His face was so close that Phil could feel his breath. It made him shiver, and he cleared his throat quickly. "What happened?"

"I got caught, I got hurt, and the others came to my rescue. It was my own fault." He glanced into Phil's eyes, then backed off and settled into the closest chair, and Phil could breathe again. "Let my guard down. Don't think it was subconscious, but who knows?" He shrugged. "Eat up. JARVIS does good scrambled eggs, I've heard."

"You don't eat them?"

"Not how I like my eggs," Bruce said, resting back. "Go on, Phil."

Phil hesitated, then began to tuck into his food. It was slightly off-putting to have the doctor watching him so intently, so he tried not to acknowledge it. When he had finished most of the eggs, and had about half of his juice, he gestured for his meds. Bruce passed them over silently, and waited until Phil was finished before taking the tray.

"I'll take this back to the kitchen," he murmured. "Then I'll come back. Do you need help getting to the— getting around?"

"No," Phil said. "This isn't necessary, doctor."

Bruce flinched. "Even if that was true, we all want to take care of you when we can, and you're my— Look, I'll be back soon."

"Okay."

While he was showering himself carefully, he considered Bruce's behaviour, and the feelings it elicited in Phil. Eighteen years of searching, then giving up, then finding his soul-mate when he finally came to SHIELD's notice. Not knowing what to say…

Then he'd reviewed the security footage of Bruce and Tony. Hearing how badly he had screwed up Bruce's life, it convinced him to stay away, avoid the doctor as much as possible. Maybe get a transfer, if there was the possibility of having to work with him. Anything to stop himself from causing more pain to the one he lo— wanted. No, loved. He couldn't help it. They were soul-mates. Those few touches he remembered from the hospital – even the ones he tried to reject – were enough to inspire such feelings. He dreamt about that all night, every night.

A soul-mate Bond was consensually dubious in nature. No one chose their soul-mate. They could choose not to Bond, but it was rare. Why go up against Fate, when Fate decreed a supposedly perfect match? A Bond caused the two fated lovers to fall in love with each other. Fortunately, the Bonding process could not be forced. There were some known cases of soul-mates remaining friends, rather than Bonding, and they led perfectly happy lives.

Not that Phil expected even to be friends with Bruce, let alone anything more.

He was shaving when JARVIS warned him that Bruce was outside. This stopped him from cutting himself accidentally when the knock came again. He took two deep breaths before speaking.

"I won't be long," he said, voice carrying with a strength he hadn't felt in days. The bedroom door opened and closed, and he heard the doctor walking around. The hairs were standing up on the back of Phil's neck. He brushed his teeth as quickly as he could, the skin still uneven on his chest. At least the dressings were less bulky now. He slipped on a button-up flannelette shirt. His fingers were fumbling by the time he reached the top, and so he left the last few buttons undone. Bruce was a doctor; he could handle seeing a bit of skin.

He was where Phil expected him to be, in the same chair. He watched Phil climb back into bed, sweatpants and shirt soft and worn from wearing them during the winter, and now three times a week for convenience.

"You look healthier than the last time I saw you," Bruce said.

"Well, you haven't seen me for a month, so that's not exactly unexpected," Phil said. He regretted his words immediately when Bruce pursed his lips. "Sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"No, no. You're right to be angry. I," he breathed out, "I should've been here. For you."

"You're not under any obligation—"

"Yes, I am," Bruce said. Then he frowned slightly. "And I didn't mean it to come out like that. It's not an obligation. We're kind of a pair, aren't we?" He laughed weakly, leaning on his elbow and running a hand through his hair. "God, Phil."

"We're not really a pair," Phil said unthinkingly. Bruce nodded, serious again.

"I know," he said. "I wanted to talk about that. I think… we each have a lot of explaining to do."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Phil said quickly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I didn't stay," Bruce said, leaning forward on his elbows and staring down at his hands. "I should've, but I saw you leaving, and…" He chewed his lower lip. "I didn't want to wait all night like I was in some stupid romance film."

"_An Affair to Remember_."

"Yeah." He laughed softly. "Must've forgotten that Deborah Kerr had good reason to miss Cary Grant. And you ended up waiting all night, not me."

"How did you know?" Phil asked. "Tony told me that you'd read the files, but I didn't think that was in there."

"Sitwell."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course."

Bruce reached out. "Could we start again?" Phil's eyes dropped.

"What's the point?" he said. "It won't make any difference to whether one of us dies when the other does, and you have a girlfriend."

"You have a cellist," Bruce reminded him.

"I knew you'd reject me if we met again, so I didn't think there was any point in breaking up with her after we finally found you. But… fool that I am, I did. After you came to the Helicarrier, I knew I couldn't be with anyone else. I called her only half an hour before I went to confront Loki."

"But that's not what made you—"

Phil shook his head. "No. I wanted to protect my people. I didn't plan for him to stab me through the chest. My last thoughts were about you. I wanted to say something to Fury, but… Well, you'd disappeared anyway. I was counting on the Hulk to keep you alive."

"So you wouldn't have cared about being alone in the afterlife, as long as I was alive."

"You have a girlfriend."

"I don't," Bruce said. "I left Betty, to keep her safe. She's moved on. General Ross told me."

"He could've been lying."

"He could have, but he wasn't. Tony found her number for me, so I called, and she confirmed it. She found her soul-mate. It's okay." He shrugged. "I couldn't be with anyone else, either."

Phil looked down at his clenched hands. "You don't have to say that. You know we can't be together."

"Why not?" Bruce asked sharply.

"Because… I was rejecting the Bond—"

"And I know why," he said. "Tony showed me that part of your conversation with Pepper."

"Don't I get _any_ privacy?" Phil burst out. "I didn't want you to know any of that!"

"Don't you get sick of being a martyr?" Bruce said, leaning closer. "It must be so tiring."

"You're one to talk."

"You've been obstructing us getting together."

"If we're just going to keep hurting each other—"

"You're hurting me right now."

"I know! Why do you think I didn't want to tell you?"

"I don't know!" Bruce waved his arms. "We're meant to be. Why're you being so stubborn?"

"You _know_ why."

"And I'm still confused about your motives."

"…Look, many people are perfectly content with never Bonding—"

"But I'm not," Bruce said, placing his hand on the bed beside Phil. "And it's mutual in those cases. They had the choice. We didn't."

"I took that choice from us," Phil whispered, gazing into Bruce's eyes. It was cliché, but he really could've gotten lost in them. He'd be happy to stay like this forever. "It was my fault for choosing my job over you."

"Phil, you did it for your father, and because you thought I'd be there," Bruce said. "You told me you'd find me—"

"I never did, though—"

"One, you did, and two, don't interrupt. I'm trying to say… You thought I would stay behind. Hell, my mentor thought you'd come back to me, but I didn't believe him, and I was too scared to wait and find out. If it's any consolation, he berated me like hell afterwards. But he couldn't find you either."

"You looked for me?"

Bruce swallowed visibly, and then dragged his chair nearer. "Not at first. But then Dr. Strange told me that I'd been stupid, and he offered to help. You weren't on the guest list – SHIELD's doing, I guess? – and I gave up. He continued to look, and tried to get others involved. But you covered your tracks too well. I took that as a sign that you didn't want me. You know." His laughter was bitter this time. "It never occurred to me that you'd been involved with the police raid. We were being encouraged to leave, and I didn't see you until afterwards. Some genius I am."

Phil started to reach for his arm to comfort him, then drew back at the last second. Bruce glanced up at him, having noticed the aborted gesture.

"Problem?" he asked, eyebrows drawn together. Phil shook his head.

"Only damning myself for not thinking you might try to find me," he said. "God, we're a mess."

"If we're a mess," Bruce said slowly, "then we can just tidy up. Can't we?" Phil shook his head. "Phil, please."

"I don't see how we can," Phil said, voice nearly inaudible.

"We can start by getting to know each other. I don't know how much we have in common, outside of SHIELD, and fighting the bad guys."

"No," he said. "We don't really have anything in common."

"But we're _soul-mates_," Bruce said, moving his hand closer. "Please. Give me a chance."

* * *

**And because I'm a horrible person, I'm ending the chapter there. Mwa-ha-ha-ha! For I am the writer, and I shall make you all hang upon the cliff of whatnot!**

**Uh, yes.**

***Beams***

**Please review!**


	5. Damned If You Don't

"Damned If You Don't"

Phil's eyes slowly met Bruce's again. He considered it. He wanted this; he wanted to say 'yes', so much. But it wasn't just Bruce's heart he'd be risking. It would be his.

Yet they were hurting more by being apart. Was it some inane, selfish desire to be a martyr again that was keeping him from doing the right thing? He wasn't doing right by his soul-mate, and that was the one thing he'd wanted to avoid.

"I see. You don't want me," Bruce said, standing abruptly. "You know what? I get it. I do. I'm not the catch of the century, far from it."

What? Phil thought. No, wait. It's me. I'm not—

"…just wanted to have another chance, but if you're not willing to…" He sighed heavily. "But damned if I'm letting you go without getting one kiss."

Phil's jaw dropped, just a bit. Bruce leaned over him, one knee on the bed and his arms caging Phil in either side. Phil's heart-rate sped up considerably as his soul-mate leaned closer, giving him time to say 'stop' or 'no', or push him away. If this was the only time they'd kiss – the last time they'd touch – Phil would also be damned if he passed up this chance.

When their lips met, it didn't seem any different from the usual lightness associated with soul-mates touching. Maybe it was because Bruce had already kissed his forehead, and they'd had contact while Phil was semi-conscious? If that was all—

Then Bruce's tongue darted out, and Phil gasped. The kiss soon deepened, and Phil was rapidly losing control.

And he didn't care. It was time to let himself fall.

His hands found their way to Bruce's shoulders, pulling him closer, and stopping him from moving away when they had to break the kiss. Without meaning to, they came back together, and Bruce climbed on top. The touch turned electric as Phil caressed the back of Bruce's neck, one hand lingering there while the other stroked its way down to the collarbone. He could feel Bruce's pulse. It was fast, but there was no Hulking out going on, so he made the most of it.

Then something happened. Something he'd thought would never happen.

"Yes," Bruce murmured against his mouth. "God, yes. Finally."

"Bruce…"

Buttons were swiftly unbuttoned, shirt fronts opened, and their breath continued to mingle with kiss after deep kiss. Bruce insinuated his arms under Phil's back, pulling him close until they were pressed together. The Bonding lit a fire under their skin. There was barely any opportunity to pull away, but Bruce managed to, just for a few seconds.

"If you don't want this, we have to stop now," he panted. "Before it gets any further—"

"Can't," Phil said, winding his arms around Bruce's shoulders. "Want this. Need it. Don't stop again."

Bruce groaned, then dropped his head to Phil's neck. He sucked a bruise into the skin over Phil's pulse. It leapt, and Phil arched his back, trying to get even closer. It should have been impossible, but he felt like they literally merged for a moment, becoming more than just flesh and blood. It was exhilarating.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"Yes," Bruce said softly, and he licked his way back to Phil's mouth. They breathed out together. Pins and needles struck every place they were pressed to each other, increasing in intensity until their hearts beat as one, and the Bond formed. There was a burning sensation around Phil's ring finger, and he knew that Bruce was feeling the same thing as a mark branded itself into the skin. Words of love spilled from their lips to mingle in their brains as shared thoughts, and they couldn't pull away until everything slowed with one final kiss. Then Bruce fell onto the bed beside his Bonded one, both trying to catch their breath.

"Gotta say," Phil muttered, "it was worth the wait."

"Yeah," Bruce said. His head flopped around to face Phil. "Did you mean it? About wanting to marry me?"

Phil managed to nod. "We've wasted too much time. Now I know I can't live without you."

They were silent for a long while, fingers entwined, hearts still beating simultaneously. Then Phil ventured to speak again.

"I've imagined that night so many times," he said. Bruce's fingers tightened. "I've rearranged it, rewritten it. All the different ways it could've gone. I've left the heroics to Jasper in favour of staying with you. I've found you while exiting the building. I've left the director behind to meet up with you and explain." He was ticking each off as he went. "I've questioned every guest about their plus-ones, instead of just looking up their profiles. I've roped the cops into finding you. I've knocked the director out as soon as he's told me that I won't get a promotion, and run back." He sighed. "But I always reminded myself that you'd left. If anyone there that night could've found you, it would've been Jasper."

"I'd left as soon as I saw you getting into the director's car," Bruce said. "I'm so sorry. Should've stayed to give the police a report—"

"Instead you ended up working for the military, which ruined your life," Phil said. He looked at Bruce. "Can you forgive me for that?"

"Can you forgive me for not waiting?" Phil nodded. "Then I can forgive you for that. So easily." He squeezed Phil's hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you heard about your father."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for when you became… the Other Guy. If it's any consolation," he gave Bruce a small smile, "it's made you a hero. A superhero. I'll never let you forget that. And I love every part of you, even the parts you hate."

Bruce ignored the prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes, and rolled onto his side.

"I love you, too," he said. "And it's not just the Bond."

"I know," Phil said. "I know your heart now."

Bruce leaned over and kissed him again, smiling into it. They kept kissing until Phil began to slip back into unconsciousness. He sensed Bruce joining him, and the adoration he felt nearly overwhelmed him.

* * *

Surprisingly, the main reaction Bruce and Phil were faced with was that of relief. Relief and joy, but especially relief.

"I was this close to building a time machine so we could go back and fix this whole thing," Tony said, fingers barely an inch apart. "Seriously."

"It wouldn't have worked," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but it would've shown you how desperate we were."

"For what?"

"For you two to pull up your socks and just… Bond," Steve said. Bruce nearly snorted at the excited fanboy voice in Phil's head squealing at 'pull up your socks'.

"You really were concerned," Phil said, outwardly composed, glancing at each of them. When they nodded, he blushed, and sank back into the sofa cushions. Bruce stayed pressed up against him, marvelling over how adorable his soul-mate could be. Phil flashed him a look of annoyance at that thought, but Bruce just smiled back.

"How's the Big Guy taking all this?" Clint asked.

"That's the thing," Bruce said. He was tracing patterns on Phil's thigh. "He hasn't stirred at all. I think he just wanted us to be united, and that's why he didn't let me be with anyone else. I don't know what'll happen with him in future, but he's happy. I can tell."

"So can I," Phil murmured. Bruce nodded, and then smiled up at their friends.

"You're happy for us, right?" he said.

They were inundated with a slew of reassurances until they were fit to burst from happiness. Phil sighed as he snuggled into Bruce's side without realising it.

"God, this is sappy," he muttered. Bruce chuckled.

* * *

With Bruce's (literal) healing touch, Phil recovered in leaps and bounds. He couldn't wait for their wedding, and for the wedding night. It would all happen as soon as he was well enough for that kind of physical exertion. Not that that stopped his brain from working overtime as he and Bruce planned the wedding, fending off the increasingly ridiculous and alarming suggestions from their friends.

"At least we're fairly low-profile, compared to the others," Phil said, lounging back in Bruce's arms on the loveseat in the doctor's room. Tony was in the process of creating a shared living space for them, although they were already decorating their own apartment away from Avengers property. It was going to be their own retreat when real life got too much and they needed somewhere to crash where they wouldn't be disturbed.

Bruce hummed, chin resting on Phil's head as the agent tapped away on the A4-sized computer screen, swapping between websites and scrolling down pages at a dizzying speed. Phil had been given a good bill of health. He was continually gaining strength, and the wedding had been scheduled for one of three days in two weeks' time. They had to be prepared for something dire to happen on any one of those days; Susan Richards had recommended contingency plans.

"Has your brother replied yet?" Bruce murmured into Phil's hair.

"Half-brother, and no. He hasn't. The RSVP date is in five days, and I'm not expecting any miracles." He sighed, and placed the StarkPad on his lap. "I don't really care whether he comes or not. I mean, he'd come if he knew who was going to be there. But he doesn't really stick by 'the whole soul-mates thing', to, uh, censor his actual words. We don't need him." He picked up the computer again. "It was just a courtesy to our late parents, inviting him. I know for a fact that he received the invitation."

"You tracked it?"

"SHIELD is tracking every invitation."

"Creepy," Bruce said, stroking Phil's stomach, because it was right there and he didn't feel like moving his arms very far. He was too comfortable.

"Just good security."

"Hmm. That or paranoia."

"It wasn't my idea," Phil said, holding up a hand. "I think Nick's being overprotective."

"So he should be."

* * *

They were able to marry on the first day, and less than ten hours later they were on the balcony of a swish hotel, Phil leaning with his hands on the rail, and Bruce cuddling him from behind. He loved this position. Not that he didn't love being able to see Phil, to kiss Phil. Maybe it was the Other Guy inside him, cherishing and protecting his mate. Bruce had sensed only approval from him since the Bonding. Post-wedding, there was definitely radio silence.

"Damian didn't show up," Phil said. "I didn't think he would. But he's my last link to Dad." He shrugged. "Stupid, I know."

"Maybe he forgot," Bruce said.

"Or couldn't be bothered. Either way, his motives wouldn't be malicious. He's just lazy."

"Now," Bruce kissed Phil's bare shoulder, "why are we talking about your half-brother," he kissed the other shoulder, "when we should be in bed, consummating this marriage?"

"Because it's a really nice view out here?" Phil suggested weakly.

Bruce shook his head, fingering the rings covering their Bonding marks. "Try again."

"Because the anticipation—"

"That's not it, either," Bruce said, and he turned Phil around in his arms. The agent looked unaccountably nervous. "Come on. You shouldn't be scared. The Other Guy won't interrupt us, we've left the past behind, and we're deeply in love with each other. I know that making love to your soul-mate is supposed to be much more intense, but you're strong enough for this. You know, if we hadn't been able to work out how to keep thoughts to ourselves, I wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark, trying to work out what's wrong, so help me out here."

"You don't understand," Phil said softly. "I remained faithful all this time. Except for dates and kisses, that was… it. As far as I went."

Bruce's heart swelled at the blush suffusing his soul-mate's cheeks. "I was faithful as well. Not for wont of trying, but I was too busy studying and performing experiments first, and then the Other Guy interfered. He knew I was only meant to be with you, which is more than I was willing to admit to myself."

Phil sighed, and leaned into Bruce's chest. He stroked the still-fresh scars from General Ross, and made a mental note to send a cookie bouquet to Steve for beating up the general in Phil's place.

"That's over with now," Bruce said, and he tilted Phil's chin up. "Come to bed, love."

He led Phil back into the room and shut the balcony doors. They walked past the other furniture, their suits draped over chairs to allow them to air. Bruce's green tie, and Phil's red tie with the silver stripes, were criss-crossed over the back of a chair. Phil had showered first, and escaped to the balcony in just boxer shirts while Bruce showered, also emerging only in boxers. He tugged Phil onto the bed and gently pulled him close.

"The flowers were beautiful," Phil murmured.

"Red roses were the floral decorations at the ball that night," Bruce said.

"And the drinks were the same."

Bruce shrugged. "It was our beginning. Some kind of beginning. I don't want to forget our… 'origin story'. Well, I do, but this was a way of recreating some of it so that we could start again properly."

"It was symbolic, huh?" Bruce nodded, and he nuzzled Phil's collarbone. Phil shivered, and fell back onto the sheets. He allowed Bruce to remove both their boxers, and shuffled into a more comfortable position, gazing up at his Bonded one.

"You're so handsome," he said. "You were today, and even more now."

Bruce lay beside Phil for a minute, running his fingers over the ever-present scar over his heart.

"Will you let me make love to you?" he asked. Phil nodded hastily, betraying his eagerness. "Okay. Wait a moment."

He rolled over and grabbed the lubricant from his bedside table. Phil swallowed, and let his mind open to his soul-mate. Bruce nearly fumbled with the bottle, but he smiled widely, pausing to meet Phil's eyes for a few seconds. Then he finally unscrewed the cap of the bottle, coated his fingers, and pressed them between Phil's legs.

"Yes," Phil hissed, and he pressed his hips closer. "God, Bruce."

"That's partly the soul-mate touch, partly my feelings," Bruce said, feeling a bit dizzy. "I can't take you… unprepared."

Phil nodded, frustrated nonetheless. Bruce kissed the frown away, moving over Phil and scissoring him open. Phil whimpered softly, clenching around the two fingers inside him, and Bruce moaned.

"Can't wait to feel you doing that `round my cock," he said huskily. Phil's eyes instantly dilated. "I swear it'll be good, love. It'll be worth the wait, just like the Bonding. Okay?"

When the time came, Bruce grabbed a condom from the opened box. Phil touched his arm.

"Bare," he said. "Please?"

Bruce nodded, set the rubber aside, and then pushed into his husband slowly. The Bond was singing beneath their skin, humming, vibrating. There was no way it was going to last long, no matter how hard they tried to hold on. The feelings were too intense. Bruce gave a few shallow thrusts, concerned about the pain on his lover's face. Phil wound a leg around his waist and pulled him closer. He gasped as Bruce sank deeper inside, and his eyes snapped back open. He didn't remember shutting them.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked, voice breaking about five times. Phil nodded.

"Keep going," he said. "Oh, God. Please, Bruce. Love. Please take me."

Bruce rested his forehead against Phil's, gazing into his eyes, and pushed the rest of the way. Phil's hips jerked upwards, and he blushed. Bruce had felt the rush of ecstasy as well, revelling in and damning the telepathic connection all at once. He groaned, and instead buried his face in Phil's neck. He kissed and nipped at the skin, moving in and out with steady strokes. Phil continued to hold him close, never letting Bruce pull out very far. The shared sensations brought them both to the edge faster than they'd hoped.

With a whine and a curse, Phil shattered, tightening around Bruce and triggering his climax. Bruce flooded Phil with his release, and he kissed his soul-mate breathless, not releasing him until they both ran dry. At which point, he collapsed beside Phil and threw an arm and a leg over him.

"You like to snuggle?" Phil said.

"Yes, I do, so shut up," Bruce mumbled, smiling. He sensed Phil's amusement. "Next time, we swap. You've gotta try it."

"Okay," Phil said, and he hauled his arms up around Bruce to hold him in place. "Good night, love."

"Good night, Phil."

* * *

Crime doesn't rest for long. The Avengers and Co were fiercer while Bruce and Phil were on honeymoon, as if to compensate for their combined absence. Either that, or to show that there was no way the honeymoon was going to be disturbed, not even for something world-ending.

After Phil and Bruce returned, it was only a few days before the Avengers and SHIELD had to fly to Washington, where terrorists had surrounded the four buildings where the Library of Congress was housed. Other superhero groups had shown up, including the Fantastic Four, and they were assigned different buildings. Phil and Bruce went to the Packard Campus.

"It's either that or the Thomas Jefferson," Fury said through their comms. "The Packard is the furthest away from other buildings. Coulson, keep control of your husband."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Roger that, sir."

"Maybe I should be keeping control of Phil," Bruce said, stroking Phil's hair. The agent leaned into the touch.

"If anyone is responsible for damage to library resources, someone's gonna have my balls, and I don't know who scares me more. POTUS or Nancy Pearl."

Phil could hear Sitwell snort over the comms. He shrugged, and followed Bruce out of the Quinjet.

They were walking along the grounds when he noticed that something was wrong.

"What's up?" he asked.

"The Other Guy… doesn't want to come out," Bruce said. They both halted, and he looked over at Phil. "I don't understand."

"How did you bring him out for Manhattan?"

"I just let him take over!" Bruce said, waving his arms. "It's because I was angry all the time, and… Oh. Oh, Christ. I'm not angry all the time anymore."

Phil winced. "Sorry about that."

"…Why?"

"I… I don't actually know. Forget it. Just… come here."

Bruce stepped closer. He knew that Phil was no longer looking at him. He was looking for the Hulk.

"It's all right to come out, you know," Phil said, stroking Bruce's cheeks as he searched for a flicker of green. "I love you, too, and I need you right now. We all do, but I happen to like the Library of Congress, so yeah. I need you. It's okay. I'll be here for you, the whole time. I promise." He stroked Bruce's hair. "Don't be afraid."

It took a few moments before the transformation started. Phil grimaced as he shared the pain of skin tugging and bones morphing, although on a far lesser scale. It ended when Bruce/Hulk somehow managed to shut him out. He waited patiently, and smiled up at his husband's alter ego.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Are you okay, honey?"

The Hulk brightened at that. "Yes, thank you."

Phil noticed the change between this Hulk, and the one before the Bonding. The voice was still gruff – but then Bruce's voice was far from smooth anyway – and he was still large and green. Yet overall, the Hulk was less angry, and more… aware. Even well-spoken.

"We can talk later," Phil said, and he clutched the ring finger of the hand cautiously held out to him. The Hulk's gaze zeroed in on the touch, and his face softened. The lightness of their soul-mate touch apparently extended to the Other Guy. "But right now, I don't suppose you'd mind helping us out with this little problem?"

"You are good to us," the Hulk said clearly, now looking at Phil. "We love you."

"I love you, too," Phil said, and he smiled. "Both of you."

The Hulk nodded, and then glanced at the large building. "Time to smash?"

"Carefully. Get rid of the bad guys on the outside, and protect the building, all right? And try not to get hurt."

Another nod, and then Phil was picked up and put on the Hulk's shoulder.

The agent shrugged, and just went along with it.

This was going to be fun.

"Teach terrorists to mess with our nation's libraries," he muttered, and he held on as his now-green husband leapt along.

* * *

When Steve – at the Jefferson building – heard it from Sitwell over the comms, he knocked out his last opponent and called for Thor. The god had barely landed beside him before Steve was throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"They're nearly done here, and we're needed at the Packard," he said.

"Will you give me directions, captain?"

"Yeah. Just hurry."

With a swing of Mjolnir, they were in the sky and flying towards the Packard Campus. When they reached the site, it was in time to see the last of the terrorists taken out. Steve noticed that the damage to the building was so minimal that it was practically non-existent. Mutants and SHIELD agents were flocking around. Reed Richards flew past them in his flight craft and landed near the uneven ground which must have been where the Hulk had been the most active. Tony was nearing the area as well, and Steve and Thor heard the all-clear from Fury over the comms.

"Where's Jolly Green?" Tony asked when they met on the turf. "Sitwell said there was a problem."

"Something about Phil being in trouble," Steve said.

"Stark!" Reed shouted from near a group of people. "You'd better get over here."

They ran towards the group, and Reed stopped them with outstretched arms.

"Before you get closer, I should tell you what I saw," he said. "It was near the end. I thought I heard the Hulk grunt – could've been in pain, I can't say – and then he collapsed. He crushed a few terrorists, which is good, I guess. But then he immediately shrunk down to Dr. Banner again."

Thor, Steve, and Tony looked at each other, then pushed past. Sure enough, Bruce was lying, half over a dead terrorist, and looking just as ashen. Steve helped Reed move him onto even ground carefully, and then let the doctor check him over.

"Got some casualties!" Sitwell said over the comms. "Getting the names now."

"Black Widow was here, wasn't she?" Tony said.

Natasha's voice came through their earpieces. "I'm with Coulson. He's unconscious. He was knocked out by flying debris. There was a bomb, and no one was near enough to deactivate it, so he used his pocket explosive to cause some of the ceiling to cave in on it and shield the area from the worst of the blast. But he wasn't far enough away in time to avoid…" She trailed off. "How is the doctor?"

"Also unconscious," Reed said. Steve repeated it into his mouthpiece. "No obvious head injuries, so he must be in a sympathetic coma. So to speak."

"Not an actual coma?"

"Whatever it is, it'll last as long as your agent is unconscious."

"The paramedics are loading Phil onto a stretcher," Natasha said. "I'm going with them."

"Keep in touch," Tony said. "I'll go with Bruce."

"No," Reed said sharply. "He and Agent Coulson have to go together. Get the ambulance to wait. Bruce's body will be fine; but Coulson's only chance of a fast recovery is to be near his soul-mate."

"Did you hear that, Natasha?" Steve asked.

"Yes. I'll stop with the medics."

"Good. We'll be there soon." He paused to watch and interpret Tony's frantic hands signals. "Iron Man will bring him to you?"

Tony gave him a double thumbs-up.

* * *

The bed in the hospital wing of Stark Tower, so recently used for Phil's recovery, was being used for that same reason again, with Bruce now lying beside him, both connected to monitors. Doctors and nurses from SHIELD were going to be on regular rotation, and Reed and Dr. Strange had offered to check in daily.

"It's just a matter of time," Strange said, watching his former pupil. "The next few days will give us an idea of their rate of recovery. I say 'their'; Bruce will not awaken without his soul-mate. Their Bond is strong. Anyone can see that." Phil and Bruce's chests rose and fell as one. "It may take days. It may take weeks. It may even take months. You can only care for them, and protect them from outside dangers."

"Of course," Steve said, gaze switching from one soul-mate to the other. "Bruce was fine while Phil was in surgery. Then in their first battle after Bonding, this happens to Phil, and they're both out of commission. Bonding with your soul-mate just doesn't seem worth it, in face of this."

"Of course it is," Strange snapped. "You never Bonded with your soul-mate, did you, Captain Rogers?"

"No—"

"Then you cannot know anything about it. This happened because it is what Bruce desired. As much of an inconvenience as it is to you, their Bond is such that he would not stand for being awake while his Bonded is dead to the world." Steve flinched. "Get used to this, captain. It is the price to pay for the unparalleled ecstasy of being with the person Fate decreed for you."

"Are you Bonded to your soul-mate?" Steve asked, his question halting Strange at the door.

"No, I am not," Strange said softly. "The process began, but she was torn from me before it could be completed."

"But you're still alive—"

"And so is she. That does not mean we are side by side, captain. We are apart, and there is nothing I can do about it, except wait for the day when we are reunited… one way or another."

Steve continued to watch his comatose friends as Strange closed the door behind him.

"You were happy," he said. "We all knew it. I just hope that you can wake up and be happy again. You can do it, men. Just wake up, and we can all be a family, okay?"

He chewed his lip, noticing no change to their stats on the screen, and went to sit beside the bed. He lowered himself into the chair, suddenly feeling every last one of his ninety-odd years.

"Please wake up, fellas," he whispered, and he curled up, as much as the small space would allow. "I can't bring myself to be jealous that you're together. Having a Bonded couple around here reminds me of what I can't have, sure. None of us have that. But it… it makes everything lighter. We need that lightness for the days when everything else seems dark."

Neither Phil nor Bruce stirred, aside from the erratic movements of their chests. Steve sighed, and settled back into the chair for the long wait.

* * *

**Yeah, kind of setting this up for a sequel, where the focus will be on the others, dealing with Phil's coma and Bruce's sympathetic coma, and the impact it has on all their lives. Thought all this up while I was at church this morning. Must have been during the music after the sermon, or after communion. At least I didn't grin like a loon, which is my usual practise when I come up with plot bunnies in church.**

**I don't think I grinned like a loon, anyway…**

**So. Who wants a sequel?**


End file.
